


i wanna do bad things to you

by bellamyslady



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, doctor!clarke, sort of slow burn?, stripper!bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 15:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8921626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellamyslady/pseuds/bellamyslady
Summary: Clarke has a new neighbour who is more often than not, covered in glitter and wearing next to nothing. She wants to kill him. Figuratively. And, they always seem to come home at the same time, meeting in the hallway. alternatively, in which we are neighbours and you're always coming home late and now you're a stripper at my best friend's bachelorette what





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for richardsprincessbob for the Bellarke Secret Santa exchange 2016.
> 
> this fic was written to 'bad things' by camila cabello and machine gun kelly

Clarke had a neighbour. She wanted to kill him.

  
Today had not been a great day. In fact, it was probably the worst day in history to date. Her boyfriend was cheating on her with some senior named Raven. It was one of the universe’s horrendous tricks. And, it culminated in having a neighbour who believed in noise pollution. “Great, just when you thought you had the floor to yourself, you get a bunch of noisy college kids.”

  
Clarke pounded on the door, not sure if she could be heard over the sound of Bach. It was a strange choice for college students. There was no answer. She swore the music got louder. She pounded again and yelled, “Listen up, you little fuckers. You can get away with blasting your music at three in the morning on campus but not here. Turn down your music!”

  
The music didn’t get any softer but the door swung open to reveal the hottest man she probably ever encountered. He was all muscle and curls. And, he certainly didn’t look like any college kid she knew. Behind him, there seemed to be an orgy of bodies and the smell of alcohol greeted her.

  
“You’re shirtless,” she blurted out without thinking. He had a body so chiselled that the girls in her art class would have fainted. Her fingers ached for charcoal to commit his perfection to paper, to trace the heated skin with her fingers. Where did that come from?

  
He was tall, so tall she had to tip her head back to look him in the eye. Like stars, she thought. She could lose herself in his eyes; they would darken to an inky blackness like the night sky when he fucked. _Get your head out of the gutter._

  
“Like what you see?” He smirked, drawing her attention to his mouth. Lord, it was made for sinning, for whispers in the dark of night, for kissing her where it mattered most. She wondered what they would taste like. _Smoke and whiskey_ , definitely, she thought. Then _, What the fuck, Clarke?_

  
Correction: Clarke had a _hot_ neighbour. And she wanted to kill him.

  
“What?” She shook off the daze. Sure, he was hot but he was still blasting Bach and that was unacceptable. “No.”

  
“So, you don’t like what you see?”

  
“I don’t like you blasting your music at three in the morning. You’re new here so I’ll say it once. We’re not some dumb college frat boy dorm or whatever. This is a respectable apartment block and we do not blast our music at three in the morning.”

  
He raised an arm, bracing it against the door frame. Her eyes followed the movement, his biceps showing deliciously. He leaned forward a little and purred, his curls falling into his eyes. “What are you going to do about it, beautiful?”

  
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere. Turn down your music before I report you to management. And he’s a personal friend of mine.” He really wasn’t. “We have a strict policy about noise here. It’s not some shitty college place.”

  
He stepped closer and shut the door behind him, dimming some of the noise. “He’s a personal friend, is he? How personal?”

  
“That’s not for you to know.” She crossed her arms and refused to budge even as he moved into her space. Clarke had dealt with difficult patients who were high on medication or delirious with pain. An annoying neighbour was nothing. Although, a neighbour who looked like he would pin you against the wall and fuck you good; that was a little harder. No pun intended.

  
Her shirtless neighbour raised a brow. “You think a college boy can’t do right by you, baby?”

  
She tried not to get distracted by the way his abs contracted when he moved. He was close now, so close she could feel the heat from his body. Oh, he was so not hitting on her. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  
“Trying to be neighbourly.” She could feel the heat from his skin, his breath on her cheek. There was something about breathing the same air that sent tingles down her spine, collecting at her damp core. He reminded Clarke of a porn star, a man that girls only pictured in their wildest fantasies. “I’m sorry about the noise, twenty-eight.”

  
“That’s okay.”

“I just moved in. Welcome party, you know. I thought no one lived here. The old guy must have forgotten to mention it.”

  
Clarke shrugged. This was becoming a little strange. “Well, I work late hours and I need the rest. You can blast your music whenever. Just not before ten.”

  
“That’s pretty specific.”

  
“I like specific.” He looked as if he was waiting for more. “I’m currently on the night shift and I need the rest.”

  
Clarke didn’t think he could look any broader until he crossed his arms across his chest. He leaned against his door. Put a cigarette in his mouth and he would look like James Dean. If James Dean had her neighbour’s colouring. “Could you put on a shirt?” Clarke asked. “You’re being distracting.”

  
“Are you a doctor? A nurse?”

  
Clarke raised a brow, her eyes tracing the outline of his muscles. It’s not like she would ever see him again and she needed a little reminder for her fantasies. “Doctor. How’d you guess?”

  
“You’re too pretty and fine-boned to be working at a factory. So either stripper or hospital. And if you’re living here, I guessed doctor.”

  
This was a strange hallucination, some sort of daydream her sleep-addled mine had come up with. “Why am I even telling you this?” She made a face and pointed her finger sternly at him. “Turn your music down. Or I’m reporting you. Good night.”

  
She spun on her heel and marched back to her apartment. Before the door closed behind her, she heard him call, “Good night, princess.”

  
Moments later, the music turned down.

* * *

  
In a strange turn of circumstances, two months later, Raven was now her best friend. And she was happily engaged to the love of her life.

  
While Clarke only got glimpses of her Shirtless Neighbour, and only in the morning when she was coming home from the graveyard shift. Most of the time, he was not so shirtless and on the arm of one girl or another. He seemed to have a favourite though: a petite brunette with aquiline features and a haughtiness that could rival Clarke’s.

  
And then, she got assigned to the day shift.

  
She would kill for a backrub. Or a great foot massage. But she had to settle for cold takeout and a busted elevator. Her calves were burning and her muscles screamed in protest by the time she got to her floor. Still, her eyes almost closed.

  
She fumbled for her keys. Her purse suddenly seemed cavernous. She never should have taken the extra shift to cover for Raven who was probably boinking her gorgeous fiancé.

  
That was another thing she needed. Sex. A fuck. A one-night stand. Stupid, fucking Finn. She stabbed her key into the lock, a crude mimicry of the very sexual act she craved.

But her key wouldn’t fit. “What the fuck?” she muttered to herself, trying again. Nope.

  
She tried every one of her them. None fit. Clarke groaned and ran her fingers through her hair, tugging lightly in the hopes that the sting in her scalp would wake her up. This couldn’t be happening, she was just too sleepy. 

Holding the key up to her face, she said, “This is ridiculous. You’d better work because I am not sleeping in the hallway tonight. And you’re making me look crazy because I’m fucking talking to you.”

Something brushed her shoulder.

She lashed out sharply, her keys bunched in her hand, her first instinct to attack. There was a manly yelp and a few garbled curses. She spun like she had learned in self-defence class. “Don’t touch me! Leave me alone! I know kung fu!” She held her hands up in front of her face.

Only, to meet the stare of a very perplexed Shirtless Neighbour. His curls fell into his eyes in a way that made her want to run her hands through it. A dusting of freckles decorated his cheeks like stars in a constellation and oh, his jaw. His jaw could cut through stone. He was an Adonis in the flesh. Why had she not noticed this before?

His hands were up in the classic sign of surrender. “I’m not here to hurt you, blondie.”

“What do you want?” Her hands were on her hips. “And don’t call me blondie.”

He raised a brow and his eyes flicked to the door behind her. A smirk lifted the corner of his perfectly shaped lips. Oh, he was cocky. He shifted his weight, hiking the bag higher on his shoulder. Clarke’s eyes couldn’t help but trail the length of his body, hard in all the right places and showing through the thin shirt he wore. Her brain conjured up a searing image of his body above hers, thrusting deeply into her. 

He chuckled. Low and rough, it caressed all the right nerves. “I should be asking you that,” he said, taking a step closer. Clarke raised her fists. “You know, I get women throwing themselves at me all the time but none have ever shown up at my door and tried to open it.”

“It’s one in the fucking morning. I don’t have time to play your games, whatever they are.” And even if you’re so fucking gorgeous that my hormones are going wacko.  
“I’m not playing any games.” He moved forward some more. “I just wanna get to my door.”

Clarke pressed her hands against his chest and a puff of glitter went up into the air. Why is he covered in glitter? When did he get so close? She tilted her head back to get a good look at him. Oh, he was made for sex and he knew it in the tilt of his head and the curve of his lips. He looked good enough to eat. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do here but this is my apartment. I’m number twenty-eight. So, go be all tall and gorgeous somewhere else.”

“I hate to be the bringer of bad news,” he began, long fingers curling around her wrist, heat searing into her skin and arrowed straight for the juncture of her thighs, “but this is number twenty-nine. You’re on the other side of the hall.”

Clarke shook her head. She couldn’t be wrong. “Don’t lie to me. I know your kind. All dark and sexy, you think you can just wiggle your way into any woman’s bed just by smiling.”

“I don’t think. I know I can. But I’m not really up for wiggling into any beds tonight. I really just wanna get some sleep.” He pointed to the door. “If you don’t believe me, see for yourself.”

“This is number twenty-eight but if you insist,” Clarke said, rolling her eyes and turning around. Her takeout was becoming ice cold by the second and—Oh, it really was number twenty-nine. She blinked a couple of times and looked from Mr. Shirtless Neighbour back to the door. 

“Oh,” she offered, quickly stepping aside and turned to the other side of the hall where it clearly read twenty-eight. “I’m sorry. Long night.”

“Same here.” He unlocked his door and lifted his hand in a wave. “Any time you want me to wiggle into your bed, you know where to find me. And not try to attack my door.”  
Clarke rolled her eyes but smiled. “Dream on, freckles.”

**A WEEK LATER**

"Miss Griffin, would you like me to have someone escort you home? The streets are not safe these days. Especially not after midnight. Why, my niece's friend got robbed the other day coming home from work."

"My mother didn't tell you to say that, did she?"

The night guard had the decency to blush. Clarke met his eyes. “Well, you can tell her that she doesn’t get to be a part of my life. After the stunt she pulled with Dad.” He looked new and probably was not aware of how much Clarke couldn’t stand her mother. Switching lanes, she said, "Did anything come for me?"

Relief crossed his face. He scrambled to reach under his desk, producing a small, non-descript box. "This came for you today."

 _One tiny excitement to look forward to_ , she thought, tucking the box under her arm. She thanked him and headed for the sole elevator. Please let it be fixed, she prayed. 

"Oh, miss, it's still broken," the night guard called out as if guessing her thoughts. 

Fuck. She could already feel her body resisting the long climb up. "For what I pay for the apartment, this should have been fixed a long time ago." 

He gave her a sheepish smile. Clarke regarded the "Out of Order" sign. It had been a week since the elevator broke down and her neighbour fiasco. 

She was glad to not have bumped into him the day after. She couldn’t bear the embarrassment, especially not when she recalled how devastatingly handsome he was. She had behaved like a sex-starved college student. Girls probably threw themselves at him and he now lumped her in with one of them.

She was a medical resident at a prestigious hospital, dammit, and she did not slobber over gorgeous men. Okay, she didn't slobber over sexy men, in public and to their faces.  
Clarke was debating calling Raven and asking if she could stay over when she heard the night guard greet, "Good evening, Mr. Blake."

"Quite a big package you got there.” Clarke turned to meet the very dark brown eyes she was avoiding. He strode over to her side, sparkling like the goddamned vampire in a stupid vampire movie Raven once made her watch. 

"Are you like stalking me or something?" She wanted to reach out and touch his shoulder to see if he was covered in glitter or he actually sparkled. If she thought his clothes had been tight before, then he was wearing practically nothing right now. His pants hugged him so tightly that it could not be any more of an announcement of how well-endowed he was.

"Don't flatter yourself, princess."

"It's Clarke. Don't call me princess." Not thinking very straight, she reached out and touched his shoulder, dragging it across his collarbone. Heat shot up her arm and her finger burned at the contact. 

But she didn't pull away, fascinated by the sparks that danced at the spot where she touched him. She wanted desperately to press her palm against his chest, to sink further into the heat. But, his fingers wrapped around her wrist, a band of heat searing up her arm and to her core. 

"Don't you know you're not supposed to touch strangers?"

" You're on fire. I was putting it out." Clarke jerked her hand away and hit it behind her back. His skin was smooth like silk and so hot it burned. "Jeez, why are you covered in glitter? And why are you not wearing a shirt?"

"So very nosy you are, aren't you, princess?" 

"I said, don't call me princess." Clarke pushed past him and started climbing the stairs. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. "And don't follow me."

"Hey, to be fair, you called me Freckles. And I'm not following you, I'm going home." 

"You already called me Blondie, remember? You don't get to call me princess as well." Bellamy took the stairs two at a time until he was beside her. 

"Damn, you're fast." 

_Only so I don't have to stare at you shirtless_. Clarke ignored him and tried to focus on climbing the stairs. "Okay," he said. "I won't call you Blondie but princess has a nice ring to it. After all, you're blonde and blue eyed, like a princess should be."

"We're not in a fairytale, lover boy." 

He laughed. It was a gorgeous sound, if laughs could be described as such. It was deep, low and warm. She wanted to hear him laugh again.

Clarke noticed that he could have stridden ahead but instead, he matched her pace. They climbed the next couple of flights in easy silence; Clarke huffing and puffing like an out of breath wolf and he hasn't even broken a sweat. She knew because she couldn't stop looking at his bare chest. Covered in all that glitter. 

"This is the second time I've seen you covered in glitter." 

"Like what you see?" he grinned, brushing a hand through his hair, dislodging some of the sparkle.

She ignored his question, tucking the box more securely under her arm. "Why are you covered in glitter?"

"Art project."

"And it requires you to take off your shirt? I don't even know how you didn't get arrested for public nudity." Her eyes drifted down his naked torso. His pants had drifted lower climbing the staircase and his Adonis belt was peeking out over the top of his pants. 

"It got dirty." He smirked. 

The box slid out of her grasp almost falling to the floor. "I'm such a klutz today," she muttered more to herself.

"Let me get that," Shirtless Neighbour said, taking the box from her before she could even protest. He examined it, turning it this way and that before a wicked light filled his eyes. "I see someone's in for some fun tonight."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She knew exactly what he meant. 

"You know, I'm always right in front of your door if you need less electronic company."

Clarke glared at him. Okay, so her lady parts were practically drooling at the prospect of that sizeable bulge but her brain was screaming that this guy was bad news. Especially if he flirted shamelessly with women in stairways. "It's not what you think it is." She reached for the box but he held it high above her head, out of arm's reach. "And I'm not sleeping with a stranger."

They arrived at their floor. Clarke barely felt the cramp in her legs. "Then tell me what it is." He pushed the door open, gesturing her through. 

"Why don't you tell me the real reason why you're covered in glitter and shirtless?"

"I told you, art project."

"Yeah, and that's really a vibrator in that box."

He grinned, arriving at her door. "You look like the type who likes it rough, princess."

"You're so creepy, ugh." Clarke rolled her eyes and fished for her keys. She unlocked her door and held out her hand for the box. 

“Are you gonna tell me or are you going to let me imagine you fucking yourself tonight?" His voice lowered darkly, the silky timbre conjuring up images of him naked, well, more naked than he could get. He passed her the box, his fingers brushing over her palm and wrist. It was like electricity, the jolt that went through her.

Clarke leaned in and whispered, "Good night, Freckles."

Then, she shut the door in his grinning face. 

* * *

 

The next day, her shirtless neighbour was home early. Bach filled the hallway. And, he left in the morning with the beautiful dark haired girl. He lifted a hand in greeting and the girl gave Clarke a cold, haughty stare. Not that Clarke was stalking him. They both seemed to come and go at the same time. 

She didn't see him for the next couple of nights and it was almost a week before she encountered him again. 

"Hey, Princess. You're early today," came the dark silky voice from behind her. "And you've got takeout."

She turned around, expecting him to be shirtless again, or at least, covered in glitter. Clarke stopped short. She didn’t quite believe what she was seeing. "Do I have something on my face?” 

"Why are you not covered in glitter? Or shirtless?"

"I told you, that was an art project."

Clarke raised a brow, still sceptical. She took in the long-sleeved shirt, checkered like one of those hipsters and jeans, he was wearing jeans. "You're looking normal for once."

It must have been her imagination but she thought disappointment on his face. But he was smirking a second later. "Enjoyed your electronic friend?" 

It took her a few moments to figure out what he was talking about. Oh. She smiled. "I sure did."

"Good." He locked his door and turned, already walking towards the elevator. 

Something clicked in Clarke. Before she could stop herself, she called out, "Freckles."

He turned, a brow raised. "Princess?" A smile was in his eyes.

"Where are you going?"

He tucked his hands into his pockets. "You ask too many questions, did you know that?"

"Fine. Don't answer."

She turned to head in when she heard him say, "I'll tell you if you'll tell me what was really in that box."

They regarded each other. She knew nothing about him except that he played loud classical music and often had a beautiful girl over. She only saw glimpses of him in the hallway and the elevator, when it was actually working. Clarke took in the messy curls that fell over his brow and the deep, dark chocolate of his eyes, the sculpted perfection of his lips and cheekbones. . 

She wanted to get to know him. Even if she didn't know why. Clarke nodded. "Where are you going?"

"To buy dinner."

"Really?" Her eyes widened. "That's it?"

"Yeah, that's it. My sister appears to have dropped by while I was not home and she raided the panty. I've got nothing else to eat."

"Oh."

"So, what's in that box?"

"Wedding invites."

"You're getting married?" His look of bewilderment was enough to make Clarke burst into laughter. 

"What would you do if I said yes?"

He moved to stand right in front of her. This close, she could count the freckles on his cheeks. "I'd be very disappointed.”

Her heart stuttered. “Why?”

“I just got to know you. And you’re already breaking my heart.” He genuinely looked crestfallen. "Come on, princess. Don't leave me hanging."

“No. My best friend is. I'm the maid of honour." She was still reeling from the fact that this stranger would be disappointed if she were engaged. It was not something she could understand. Raven would tell her to just flow with it.

A wicked light filled those chocolate depths and a smirk deepened in the corner of his perfect lips. "Going to have a bachelorette party?"  
"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you know something I don't."

"I happen to know what bachelorette parties are like." He braced an arm against the door frame. All Clarke could think about was how well he filled out the shirt. "Strippers, drinking, horny ladies look for one last ride before they get hitched."

"We're just going out for dinner and a few drinks. We're not going to do anything you would."

His eyes darkened and his voice dropped even lower, caressing her in places she didn't even know existed. Her skin tingled with the awareness of his closeness. If she stood on her toes, they'd be kissing. And she didn't know what she would do if that happened. "And how do you know what I'd do?"

"I know men like you." She thought of Finn, of how charming he was, how he had swept her off her feet. He didn’t woo her in hallways nor was he shirtless or covered in glitter but he drew women to him nonetheless. 

He raised a brow. “Ex-boyfriend?” he guessed.

"Just…forget it. I gotta go. I have an early shift so, here's dinner," Clarke raised her takeout bag, "and yeah, I gotta go."

He offered her a small smile, a genuine one. "Are you sure you wouldn't want to join me for dinner? I promise, I won't hit on you. And my sister says I'm a good listener."

Clarke regarded him once more in his checkered shirt and pressed jeans. He looked utterly wholesome, almost collegiate. In fact, he looked like someone whom she could introduce to her family. She shook her head. "Thank you, Freckles. But I need to get some rest."

He looked crestfallen. Then, he grinned and pulled out his wallet, producing a shiny gold card. "If you change your mind about the strippers, I know a guy and if you tell him Freckles sent you, he'd give you a discount."

"What?" 

"Strippers, you know. For your bachelorette. He does almost any fantasy you can think of."

"You seem to know an awful lot about strippers."

He grinned. "He's my best friend. What can I say? I'm an expert by now."

Clarke examined the card. It held only a name and a phone number. "Bellamy Blake, huh. That's a very unassuming name for a stripper. I'd expected some variation of Big and Dick."

"Well, girls like a down to earth guy."

 _Yeah, girls probably really like it when he goes down_ , she thought. She looked up from the card to find him staring at her, biting back a laugh. His sparkling eyes gave him away.

"What?"

“And here I thought the lady doctor from across the hall was a prude."

"I said that out loud, didn't I?" Clarke groaned. He nodded. "Okay, well, this was fun. But I'm going to go. And you're going to forget we ever had this conversation."

"What conversation?"

"Exactly."

* * *

 

Clarke didn't see Freckles the Shirtless Neighbour for almost a month. Until she worked a late shift again and came home to find him sprawled on the floor in the hallway on his stomach. 

He was dressed this time, the tight shirt stretched across his chest. The little bastard was probably drunk out of his mind. Probably didn't even make it to the front door before passing out. She nudged him a little with her foot but he was unresponsive. Kneeling, she shook his shoulder hard but all he did was groan. 

Alcohol poisoning or choking on his vomit flashed through her mind.

In a panic, she flipped him onto his back, her muscles strong from flipping and lifting patients in the emergency room. She stretched out her legs, making sure his head was cradled in her lap. She leaned down and took a tentative breath. 

He didn't smell like alcohol and his colouring was good. In fact, he smelled good, like a man, like leather, smoke and the clean bite of soap and sweat. Clarke frowned. She checked for a pulse to find it strong. "Freckles, can you hear me? I need you to say something."

She debated between slapping him and emptying the contents of her bottle on his face. He saved her the decision when he blinked once and then, slowly opened his eyes.

"Hello, Princess." He smiled sleepily. “This feels like The Little Mermaid.”

"Hello, Freckles. I can’t believe you can talk about Disney movies at a time like this." Clicking the tiny flashlight she carried around, she checked his pupil response. He was fine. "Mind telling me why you're on the floor in the hallway?"

Dazedly, he looked around him and then got up, stretching like a cat. She was fascinated by the play of muscles in his arms and across his back. Resisting the urge to reach out and touch him, she clenched her fists, nails digging into her palm. "I got locked out. Probably left my keys at the university. I'm waiting for my sister to bring me her set. But she's playing a gig tonight and won't be done any time soon and I was so tired I fell asleep."

"Oh." Clarke had expected something more interesting. Even though he was covered in glitter and his clothes stuck to him like a second skin. "I thought you were passed out drunk or something." I thought you were going to die.

"I never drink on a weekday," he said with seriousness. "And, I never get drunk."

"Oh, however do you compete with those college kids?"

"You still think I'm in college?" He looked wounded. 

"You did mention leaving your keys at the university."

He regarded her for a long while, blinking sleepily at her. Then, he sighed and ran a hand through his curls. "You got me, princess. I'm in college."

Clarke opened her mouth to claim triumph but he held up a finger. "But, it's not what you think. I'm a graduate student and a TA. I'm not a drunken frat boy." He grinned. "Although, I was."

"You look like a pledge." Clarke smirked, settling down as well, stretching her legs out in front her. Heat crawled up her skin when his eyes trailed the length of her legs, up her body to meet her eyes. He was brazen, undressing her with his gaze. 

"I'm not just a pledge. I was President,” he declared smugly. He leaned in close. "And how would you know what pledges look like?"

A blush crept into her cheeks. "No way. You pledged Greek as well?" he exclaimed. 

"No!" Clarke playfully nudged him with her foot. "I just went to a few frat parties. When you’re in med school, you've got no time for this kind of stuff."

"I knew there's a little wildcat in you somewhere. We just gotta find her under all this sophisticated doctor shit." 

Clarke shook her head. "Not happening." 

He shrugged and leaned back on his hands. "Never say no. You might just regret it."

"Learned that at your frat?"

"We're not just beer pong and pool parties, princess." 

Clarke snorted. Her stomach grumbled audibly. "I'm sorry, I haven't eaten anything and I'm starving." She caught him eyeing her takeout bag. "Have you?"

He shook his head. "It's okay. O will be here soon and I’ll whip something up then."

Clarke wanted very much to stuff her face on noodles and egg rolls and she couldn't do that in front of Freckles without feeling guilty. He was probably starving as well. "It's okay. We can share but you'll have to cook me something in return."

He looked like a puppy that had gotten a treat. She didn't know how to feel about the gratitude on his face. "What? No digs about how you can turn up the heat and cook something? Make it steamy? All hot and moist? No? Nothing?"

He sigh contentedly and leaned back on his arms. "I'm all out of flirts tonight, princess. I just want a drink and some food. I'll settle for the food."

"Fair warning, it's gone cold."

"It's still food."

Clarke took out the box of noodles and handed it to him with the chopsticks. She always went for the egg rolls first. And, just like that, she found herself in the hallway of her apartment building eating cold takeout with her very sexy, very gorgeous neighbour and definitely not having thoughts about how good he would be in bed. 

His fingers wrapped expertly around the chopsticks, managing to look elegant and refined. Clarke always ended up looking like a clumsy train wreck when she ate with chopsticks. 

They ate in relative silence until their stomachs were full. Clarke slurped at the noodles when he passed it to her. There was no being ladylike when it comes to takeout.  
"Why medical school? Why devote yourself to hours and hours of torture only for more torture? Hell, every time I see you, you’re about to collapse."

Clarke frowned. "You're one to talk. I'm not the one asleep in the hallway."

"That's a choice I made."

"Well, medical school and being a doctor is my choice and if this is what it takes, I'll do it." He was watching her with a tilt of her head. "I’ll take extra shifts if no one wants to cover it. Someone always needs saving and their lives are more important than mine. I don't know how to put it into words. I just know that it's right."

"Okay. I'll take that."

Clarke raised a brow. "Nothing else to say? Something sarcastic?" He shook his head. "You're surprising me at every turn. What about you? What's so interesting that you've taken it up at graduate level?"

A secret seemed to be poised on his lips, a mind-blowing discovery. "Are you ready? It's pretty awesome." Clarke nodded, her mouth full with egg rolls. "History."

It took her some effort to not choke on her eggroll. "You're a history major?" She expected him to be a business major because they were the most arrogant or at the most one of those obscure major types because they thought they were overly unique. "I don't believe you. How does a history major become president of a fraternity? You're supposed to be geeky and awkward and holed up in the library."

"Ah, stereotypes." 

But Clarke didn't hear him. "History majors don’t walk around shirtless and covered in glitter.”

"Just because you think all Arts majors are geeks and nerds and we hole up all day in the library does not mean we actually are. The vast majority of us have social lives. I joined a frat because my friends did, I mean, there was no harm in rushing. But it looks like I won them over. And when the opportunity for president came, I took it."

"I feel like I'm not getting the whole story here." She wrinkled her nose at him. "Besides, you're the one who thought I was a prude."

"What could I expect when you coming banging on my door at three in the morning to complain about the noise? You look pretty cute when you’re angry though." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Although, the box did surprise me. I really thought it was a vibrator."

"Who likes coming home to have your neighbour blaring music like it's a club or something."

"We could have compared music choices." 

Clarke snorted and surveyed their damage. With a sigh, she said, "I wasn't always this…unfun. You caught me at a bad time."

"How so?"

She looked up at him, actually met his eyes to find genuine interest there. "I can't believe I'm having a heart to heart with my neighbour in the hallway. And we just had dinner in said hallway."

He shrugged. "Not the first time."

"I forgot. You were a frat boy." Clarke crossed her legs and leaned back on her hands. "Well, I had just found out my boyfriend was cheating on me. And then, I threw myself into work to forget him. And it just sort of became normal. Not to mention, five year plan. I gotta be chief in a few years.”

"And?"

Clarke shrugged. "That's it, I guess." 

"And the other times?" he prompted.

"That's just me being charming." She stuck her tongue out at him.s

"Well, he's a dick for cheating on such a charming and beautiful woman." He winked at her. 

"You can't flatter your way into my apartment." 

"Watch me, princess."

"Believe me—” A loud beeping interrupted her.

"Hold that thought." He pulled out his phone and frowned. She wanted to rub the furrow away. He sent a reply before tucking away his phone. He looked pained. Freckles cleared his throat and said, "It turns out, my sister won't be back until morning. It looks like, this is home sweet home for now."

She shouldn't do it. She knew she shouldn't. She barely knew him. He flirted shamelessly. Who knows what else he'd do? He lay back against the cool tiles, his eyes closed with one arm flung above his head. God, Clarke wanted to draw him, paint him, sculpt him even though she didn't sculpt, but it would never compare to the real thing. 

Beautiful did not begin to describe him. 

He was classically formed, that's for sure. But there was something in the slant of his cheekbones that was different. And freckles, oh, he was covered in them. She wanted to kiss every one of them. _Why the fuck did he have such an effect on her?_

"Maybe it's because I'm just naturally charming?" He opened his eyes lazily, his hand reaching up to tuck her hair back. Her cheek and curve of her ear burned where his fingers brushed her. 

Clarke clamped a hand over her mouth. “I said that out loud again, didn’t I?”

He nodded and closed his eyes again. “Well, I’m going to head in.” Clarke gathered up their rubbish and went to her door. Don’t do it. But he’s your neighbour. So? He’s a flirt. When has that been a crime? Have you forgotten about Finn? 

“I can’t leave you out here until morning. You can sleep on my couch.” Freckles leapt to his feet, bright and alert. 

“Thank you, princess.” He tried to tuck his hands into his pockets but realised that he didn’t have any. “Send me the cleaning bill if I get glitter on anything.”

“Don’t be weird,” she said, unlocking her door and ushering him. She closed it behind him and dropped the keys into a glass bowl by the door. “So, this is me.”

“It looks like you’ve lived here forever.”

“It’s my childhood home. My mom moved out when she remarried.” Clarke flicked on the lights as she moved through the apartment. “The couch is there. I’ve got an afghan there but if you need more blankets, let me know.”

He nodded and made a beeline for the couch, sitting on it like an obedient schoolboy. Clarke couldn’t help but laugh. “I said don’t be weird.”

“I’ve never stayed over at a girl’s place before.” He kicked off his shoes and awkwardly put his feet up. Clarke stood in front of the couch, her hands on her hips. 

“Well, I’m not a girl.” She smirked, wondering what was coming over her. “Okay, so bathroom is down the hall, you can’t miss it. Try not to freak me out in the middle of the night. Kitchen’s over there in case you’re still hungry. I’ve got some eggs and milk in there.”

“Bathroom. Kitchen. Got it.” He pulled the afghan off the back of the couch and cradled it in his lap. There was something so right about Freckles sitting on her couch, lying in her space. Her house wasn’t very feminine but he added masculinity to it, a maleness to the female-dominated space. It felt right.

“If you need anything, I’m down there. Again, try not to scare the crap out of me at night.”

He nodded and folded one arm behind his head. Her pillows would smell like him come morning. Her couch would be full of him. There would be no cleaning bill even if the glitter set into the fabric. “Good night, Freckles.”

“Good night, princess.”

Freckles left even before the sun was up. She knew because she was an early riser but before she could say goodbye, the door had clicked shut behind him. 

He left behind a freshly made omelette and a note: _Thank you for letting me sleep over. You are truly a princess. I made breakfast because your mug of coffee cannot be considered breakfast. P.S. Your refrigerator is empty. How do you survive?_

  
Clarke smiled and dug into the omelette. It was delicious. 

* * *

 

It turns out, Raven really wanted a stripper. She insisted it was not for her but rather, it was for everyone else. Clarke saw right through her. But it was her best friend's bachelorette and what she wanted, she got. 

They were gathered in Clarke's apartment. It was the most spacious place they knew and the girls promised to keep the volume to a minimum. Already, Harper was drunk and Monroe was daring her to drink more. Raven was screaming "chug, chug, chug" like a frat boy and Fox had turned up the music, dancing like she was at a club. Her apartment was so packed with people, all friends of friends, that there was hardly any space to move.

Clarke loved it.

 _Knock. Knock._

"You girls had better pray that's not the manager coming to complaint." Clarke said but Fox was at the door first. Clarke took a break from dancing to collapse back against her couch, cradling a bowl of chips and dip. 

"Stripper's here!" Fox yelled.

“I have a noise complaint,” came a familiar voice.

The entire apartment stopped and stared at him. He was wearing the cockiest smirk she had ever seen on anyone, his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. “There’s not enough noise!” 

“Freckles?” Clarke sat up sharply, almost upsetting her chips. She stared at the man before her, blinking furiously to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. No. It was really him in his stupid red checkered shirt, looking more lumberjack than collegiate this time. His jeans hugged his hips, the material so soft and worn that they seem to mould to his body.  
If it had been noisy before, it was cacophony now. He moved through the crowd, gyrating and dancing in the most obscene way, hip thrusts and all. He moved like liquid silk and a predatory cat all at once. It contrasted against the outfit. He wasn’t even wearing glitter. But, the way her friends were clamouring about him, shoving dollar bills into his pants, he was right. Girls ate up the boy next door act.

“Who’s Freckles? I thought you said his name was Bellamy Blake?” Raven asked, sitting down next to Clarke. His eyes seem to light up when he spotted Clarke and made his way over.

She was still speechless. “Stop drooling, Clarke,” Raven laughed. Clarke shut her mouth with an audible click. Raven turned to Freckles. “Oh, you’re clearly not what I expected for a stripper.”

“Neither did I!” She wanted to move, to run but she was rooted to the spot. “He’s the one I was telling you about. The neighbour. The one without his shirt. The hot one.”

Raven frowned for a moment before it hit her. “Oh!” She looked from Freckles to Clarke. She pointed at Freckles. “Then, why’s he here? You didn’t invite him, did you? You know no boys are allowed.”

“I didn’t invite him! I don’t know what he’s doing here! His friend’s the stripper, not him.” She looked at him, narrowing her eyes. He couldn’t be. “What are you doing here?”

“This is my art project, princess,” he said, winking and nudging Raven back against the couch. The apartment erupted in cheers. Clarke covered her eyes with her hands and scooted to the other corner as he straddled her best friend. Still, she peeked through her fingers. 

A spike of jealousy shot through Clarke when he nuzzled her cheek. His hand cupped her jaw, his thumb brushing her cheek. It was almost affectionate. He leaned down to kiss her but—

“I’m a married woman, darling.” Raven pushed her hands against his chest, shaking her head. He looked perplexed, his head tilted questioningly. She sat up and he braced himself against the couch so he wouldn’t fall. “Didn’t Clarke tell you? You’re hired for the girls, not me.”

“She didn’t tell me anything,” he said, slowly. Both of them turned and looked at her like co-conspirators. As if on cue, both of them broke into wicked grins. “You’ve been keeping secrets from me, princess.”

“You’re the one who is a secret stripper. You let me believe that you—” She was so angry she couldn’t even finish the sentence. She threw a pillow at them. Realisation dawned on her. “Oh, no. I can see the gears working in your nasty little minds. No. Not happening.”

He climbed off Raven and stood in front of Clarke, holding out his hand. She shook her head and crossed her arms. He leaned in, bracing his arms on either side of her on the back of the couch. Clarke refused to be afraid or bothered. Oh, he smelled good. “Come on, wildcat. Show me what you’ve got.” His eyes grew darker. Sneakily, one hand slid along her shoulder to curve around her neck. Her breath caught in her throat. “Are you afraid?”

“Of you? Please.” Her voice was throatier than she wanted it to be. She couldn’t hear the music already nor see any of the other girls at the party. His eyes dared her to make a move, prove her point. She didn’t even realise that he was straddling her waist until she slid her palms up the rough denim, curling into his waistband. “Enough for you?”

His hand slid down her arm to cover her hand, his touch like a brand, marking her as he went. Her breath caught in her throat. “I’m sure you can do better than that.”

“You were hired for the party, not for me.” 

“Then, let’s be the entertainment.”

Clarke gasped with indignation. “I knew you were insane from the first moment you blasted Bach.” 

Still, she unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. God, the expanse of tan skin was enough to make her cream. She curled her fingers back into his waistband but he gently tugged her hand away and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist, all the while his eyes held hers. “Insanely yours.” Clarke couldn’t help but burst into laughter, wrapping her arms around his neck and letting him pick her up. A chorus of cheers went up and the music got even louder.

He deposited her on a chair and spread her thighs, kneeling between them. “You’re so annoying, did you know that?” she asked as he mimicked going down on her, causing her to groan, the desire evident in his eyes. 

“Don’t worry, princess. There’s a lot more where that came from.” He didn’t get up so much as he flowed to his feet before straddling her and thrusting his hips to the encouragement of the crowd. He lowered his head, his breath against her ear. “I want to see what you look like against my sheets, your skin bare and flushed and my mouth between your thighs.”

“I like you on your knees.” 

“That’s my wildcat.”

The party wound down in the early hours of the morning. Raven was collapsed on the couch, a wine bottle dangling from her fingers. Harper was raiding her refrigerator and Fox was watching a documentary on animals and eating chips. The rest of the girls had gone home. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Clarke asked, picking up her afghan where it lay on the floor—thankfully, it was clean. She wrapped it around herself, walking Freckles to the door.  
“It’s not the first thing you tell your super sophisticated and hot neighbour.” 

Clarke leaned against the door frame and looked up at him, her arms crossed across her chest. “I’ll give you that,” she said. He braced an arm above her head and the other at her waist. He lowered his head, gently brushing his lips against her jaw. Clarke tilted her head slightly and he trailed kisses down her neck. A soft sigh escaped her lips.

“Any girlfriends?” She hoped not. Her heart raced, waiting for his answer.

“Just because I’m a stripper, it doesn’t mean girls necessarily want to date me.” 

“What about that brunette who’s always over at your place?”

“The one who looks like she could kill you?” Clarke nodded and Bellamy laughed. It was her favourite laugh. “That’s my sister. Octavia. I’ll introduce you some time. I think you’ll like each other.”

“I’d like that.” She ran her fingers through his curls, pushing his back and lightly tugging his head up. She draped an arm around his neck. “So, Bellamy Blake?”

“Is my real name.” He smiled slightly. It dawned on her that she should have realised it earlier. The night guard had called him “Mr. Blake”. 

“Bellamy Blake,” she said, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. He had put his shirt back on but he hadn’t buttoned it. She rose up on her toes and pressed a kiss to the base of his neck. “Hi. I’m Clarke Griffin.”

“When can I see you again, Clarke Griffin?” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. 

She covered his eyes with her hands and then pulled away. “Right now.”

“You’re so cheesy.” Bellamy caught her wrists with his hands and she stood on her toes, lightly brushing her lips against his before he took over and they met like two stars crashing, all bright light and beauty. 

“I told you I’m not really…unfun.”

He wrapped an arm around her waist. “What other fun can you come up with, hmm?”

Clarke surveyed her apartment of drunken and asleep girls and then, she looked at apartment twenty-nine. She grinned, running a hand down his bare chest, hooking into his waistband. “I can show you better than I can tell you.”

“That’s my wildcat.”

**Author's Note:**

> half of this was written in a rush, mostly on the train to and from work. and the last half was written in the office in between copywriting. it's probably the longest one-shot i've ever written without smut and probably the longest relationship development. i don't usually write fics like this, i'm a ya fantasy kind of girl so, i hope you guys liked this one. i really love what i've written and i hope you do to. 
> 
> and if you've noticed it, i stole a couple of lines from my favourite movies. you get a cookie if you can pick them out!
> 
> all my love and merry christmas


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